


Vergence

by arroways



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, it really wants them to bang, the force is kinda sex pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:44:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13779978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arroways/pseuds/arroways
Summary: Following a prison break from Hanna City, Rey and the fugitive Kylo Ren find themselves on a distant Outer Rim planet. A temple there has plans for them.PWP, but there's some backstory, a dose of angst, and filth. Set a few years or so post-TLJ.PLEASE heed the tags for mentions of violence, injuries, torture, imprisonment, etc. I've done my best to tag appropriately.Thank you to my lovely betas,Elizabethtudor,withoutawish, andBecca.





	Vergence

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally begun to write this with a multichapter plot and adventure in mind, but it got away from me. So, here, I'm flinging this into the void as a oneshot, hoping someone enjoys. 
> 
> Again, please heed the tags for dubious consent and mentions of violence. The Force is borderline mild sex pollen in this fic, but I promise you these two aren't getting up to anything they don't want to... ;) The Force just kinda. Nudges them together.
> 
> I commissioned PandaCappucino for art from this fic, the first Reylo fic I ever wrote! [Check it out here!](https://arroways.tumblr.com/post/174351476413/i-commissioned-pandacapuccino-to-draw-a-scene)

_Chandrila. A new galactic government - The Reformation - reigns, but with the death of General Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker, planetary ambassadors have become increasingly more corrupt and power hungry._

_Kylo Ren has been taken prisoner. He and his Knights are frequently subjected to public torture and executions. Citizens thrive on these spectacles, their anger towards the former First Order evident in their jeers._

_Rey disapproves of the governing tactics of the new Reformation, but those around her are thirsty for vengeance, eager to take their frustrations out on those who have wronged them. She lacks the manpower to stand up to them, and she does not yet have enough apprentices who understand the ways of the Force to back her._

_Rey still shares a bond through the Force with Kylo Ren. It’s faint, as his strength fades. The Force still finds a way to bring them together. She devises a plan to break Kylo free, sick of the public torture he endures. She finds the treatment of the prisoners by the Reformation sickening. She can no longer bear to witness his suffering, or the way the Reformation uses him as a pawn in their Galactic conquests,  and plans to smuggle him to a planet in the Outer Rim._

*****

“The treachery of the First Order has not been forgotten. Let this be a reminder to those who would try and dismantle the efforts of the Reformation,” a female voice announces, cold and foreboding.

Rey and Chewie hover in the Falcon far above the Chandrilan stadium below, observing the spectacle beneath them.

She considers how small Kylo Ren has become. It’s been years since she last observed him in person, left him lying on the floor of the Supremacy’s throne room, and yet somehow, he’s smaller. Without his cloak, without his black robes or cowl or mask, he’s almost frail. She swears she can see his ribs through the translucent linen of his shirt, even from this distance.

He’s pushed forward by soldiers, his hands cuffed in front of him. He stumbles a bit, his head hangs forward. His back is covered in grotesque scars. The soldiers throw him into the hard clay of a pillar in the center of the stadium, cuffing his arms over his head. Kylo’s jaw twitches as they do so, gritting his teeth, but his face is a blank slate. He’s hidden inside, retreated, into a dark corner of his own mind. They may have the power to harm his physical body, but he has built a fortress, thick and impenetrable, within himself, that even he is unsure of where the prison of his own mind ends and the one they have placed him in begins.

Before the leather of the whip even makes contact with the skin of his back, she’s begun to scream. The screams rip her throat open, wide and raw, and she know she’s still screaming, even when the sound is drowned out by Chewie’s concerned roars.

This isn’t her first time witnessing this, but it’s no less painful. It’s strange. She can sense his pain as if through a fog. It’s one-sided. He’s there, and she knows he’s there, but he’s buried, and dull. Lackluster. It’s as if the whip is only hitting smoke, and though the bond grows weaker every day, the pain of each hard smack reaches out through him and… into her.

It hits her hard, in the chest. It spreads out through her abdomen, down her arms into her fingers. A vile, toxic, poisonous ache.

The cheers of the citizens in the crowd drown out the sound of Rey’s stifled sobs. Her body quivers. She gasps for air. They can’t hear her anyway. Not in the safety of the Falcon.

*****

Late at night, in the solitude of her AT-AT on Jakku, that’s when she had grown to loathe the sound of a heartbeat. It seems silly, right? Something so basic, something so fundamentally human. To many, a heartbeat reminds us of life, tranquility. Familiarity. The sensation of a hug, and the sound of the soft thumping beneath another’s flesh. Tranquility.

But to Rey, her heartbeat reminded her of restless nights. It reminded her of the blood thumping in her ears, the sound of a young girl crying, and a meaty hand pulling her away from a departing starship as she cried out helplessly. 

She knew the _thump_ of her own heart, and it brought her no peace. It brought her no reassurance. On Jakku, she would find herself curled on her side, staring at the wall with the endless nicks scratched into its metal, and she would struggle to close her eyes and replace the sound of her heartbeat with the sound of waves, crashing on a sandy beach.

*****

**_“Punch it, Chewie!”_**

It was cinematic, really, the way the fireballs erupted behind _Falcon_ in such grandeur. Perfectly timed as the Wookie thrust the rusty ship forward and out of harm’s way. The clunky old Corellian freighter shivered as the enemy made its final attempt, before they blasted into the safety of hyperspace.

Rey maneuvered her way into the lounge area of the Falcon, where the man she had just broken out of a high security Hanna City prison was curled helplessly on his side in the bunk.

Kylo Ren had not aged gracefully. In the years since their last encounter, in the hours leading up to the Battle of Crait, his time as the Supreme Leader had carved furrows into his forehead and deep crow’s feet around his tired eyes. Beneath those eyes, dark circles seemed permanently etched into the delicate skin there.

She remembered how youthful and prince-like he had appeared when he first removed his mask for her during her interrogation.

And since his capture, time and defeat had taken its toll, leaving a dark, stubble-ridden beard in its wake, glassy eyes, and skin riddled with scars. She trembled with the memories of how he had received each of them, for those were memories they both shared.

The Chandrilan-issue prisoner’s uniform he’s wearing is ragged, wrinkled, and stained. It’s an abhorrent brown linen color. The tunic hangs upon at his chest, and Rey finds herself swallowing thickly as she sees fresh bruising there she did not notice during the activity and excitement of the prison break.

And, unfortunately, the man is delirious. Hanna City kept him incredibly sedated these past few months, since his capture. She figures the last of the tranquilizer will wear off imminently, but for now, his eyes drift listlessly around the Falcon, gazing here and there, with no real meaning to his movements. He’s completely fucking blazed, if she’s to be honest.

She settles carefully onto the crescent-shaped lounge area, facing slightly away from him.

“Master Skywalker once told me about the Temple of Eedit,” she says conversationally as she turns on the Dejarik set. It buzzes to life with a large amount of static. Kylo Ren’s eyes pass over to the table, and pass directly through the holo creatures, completely unaware.  
  
“Nobody has been to Devaron in years. The Jedi used to train there,” Rey continues. Despite his current state, he knows all this. She’s sure he had been taught. These are secrets, stories, told to students of the Force.

She’s confident her newfound enemies in the Reformation will be unaware of all this. Stories lost, details changed, children having found new heroes to worship during bedtime stories. Nobody will be looking for them on Devaron.

The Dejarik set doesn’t hold her attention, and she finds her gaze drifting back to him, still curled onto his side. His eyes have now closed, and she notices his hair is a bit longer. It falls past his shoulders now, a dark, matted, tangled mess spilling onto his back.

His back.

Her mind flashes to a recent memory of him.

She remembers his figure, hanging helplessly from leather restraints, and she watches from merely feet away. She’s powerless to help him.

It was in those moments of intense agony, when his guard was down, that their connection sparked to light once more. His eyes met hers from beneath his shaggy black hair, coated with sweat and blood. He had spat out the latter on to the sandy ground beneath him.

When she had approached him, he physically recoiled. The soldier behind him had frowned, as Kylo Ren had just recoiled backwards, seemingly embracing the smack of a whip.

She had seen starving children like this before, in the market at Niima Outpost. Even if you approached them with portions, they would lash out.

“Ben,” she whispers, kneeling before him. He had growled, snarled, and faded away, her connection with him severed.

That was shortly before she had decided to abscond with him to the Outer Rim. And maybe worry about the rest later. Kylo Ren’s ultimate fate had been less important to her than bringing their mutual suffering to an end. 

*****

She _feels_ him awaken, not just from his slumber, but from his sedation, before she sees him. In fact, she’s in the cockpit, with Chewie, making routine repairs to the nasty compressor, when a heaviness fills her chest and settles over the ship. She glances at Chewie, but he’s nuzzling a porg and feeding it delightedly. She does her best to back out of the cockpit without drawing much attention to herself, and thankfully, Chewie is enamored enough with the small creature to pay her no mind.

She makes her way to the lounge, where she finds him sitting upright, hunched over with his head between his knees.

She barely gets a syllable out of her mouth to speak or alter him to her presence before she finds herself flung into a bulkhead. Figures.

Rey finds her voice as she crumples to the floor, and she shrieks out for him while finding the energy surging between them and doing her best to freeze his attack.

“It’s _me!_ ” she finds herself yelling, and internally wonders if that’s even a _comfort_ to him in any sense, and if this will stop his assault.

She’s dragged up the metal of the bulkhead, held in place by his outstretched hand as he arises from where the bunk is recessed into the wall of the Falcon.

As he holds her in place, his eyes drag wildly around the lounge area, recognition dawning on his snarling face. His features soften slightly, but his brow remains furled, his teeth bared.

She realizes that while he has her pressed against the bulkhead, she’s still able to breathe freely. He’s assessing the situation, maybe. She allows him to continue pinning her there, if only for his own peace of mind. She could easily bring an end to her predicament if she saw fit, with the blink of an eye.

She reaches out, tentatively, across the room, her mind gently settling on the energy surrounding him. Right now, it’s a fuck ton of confusion, she realizes. It’s fear, but as she burrows right beneath the surface, she realizes he has absolutely no idea how he’s come to be here, in his father’s ship.

She takes a chance, and plants a memory right there, placing it before him before scampering out of the corners of his mind, hoping he’ll take the bait. His eyes light up and snap to meet hers as she does.

The memory of her kneeling at the edge of a pit, peering down. The image of his figure in the corner, head against the wall, legs splayed open.

“If you don’t come with me right now, Force help me,” she’s pleading, “please, Ben,” she’s coaxing.  
  
Another image of him slumped over, and she’s carrying his weight on her shoulders as they limp slowly out of the penitentiary in the dead of night.

The wrinkles of confusion disappear from his face, and he sets her gently on the floor.

“I suppose you want me to thank you,” he breaks the silence with the sound of his gravelly voice.

“It was more for my benefit, really,” she bites back, not appreciating his tone or the implication that he was not, in fact, eager to thank her.

“Do you have any water?” he glances to a canteen resting on the Dejarik table. She jerks her head towards it, and he limps over before taking a few deep gulps. He chokes and sputters a bit as he does so.

Rey allows him to explore the Falcon while she makes her way to her quarters, glancing around before grabbing a medpac, and tucking her blaster into her holster. Just in case.

She returns to find him sitting, playing idly with one of the holo Dejarik creatures. It’s growling at his finger, where he’s trying to poke it. She rolls her eyes, and goes to kneel at the floor next to him.

He shifts slightly, his brown eyes jerking to the medpac she’s brought with her.

Very matter-of-fact, she looks up to meet his gaze, and tells him, “Take off your shirt.”

He doesn’t protest, simply crosses his arms over his torso and lifts off the brown linen, albeit with visible difficulty. The reason for his struggle becomes painfully apparent when the gashes across his chest and back are exposed. She didn’t know what she had expected.

Some of the marks are a dark brown, surrounded by mottled dark purple and yellowing bruises at various stages of healing. She winces at the reveal, but gets to work pulling out bacta patches and spray bandages.

“I really… don’t know how well this will work, they’re meant for… smaller wounds. But it will have to do,” she tells him. She earnestly leans forward, smearing the small amount of synthflesh over the worst of the injuries on his abdomen. She’s methodical here, doing her best to ration the supplies and allocate where he needs it most.

She motions for him to turn slightly, so she can get a better angle at his back. The injuries here are long and thin, remnants of the lashings he had endured on Chandrila. They’re deep as well, but there’s not much she can do with the remainder of her med supplies. She does her best to irrigate what she can, covering the rest with the patches.

She’s been moving so quickly, when she’s done, her hands gently rest upon the skin of his back. It’s molten to her touch. Is he running a fever? Fear shoots through her, and her heart pounds in her throat.

No, it’s something else. And as this dawns on her, she pulls her hand back from the sting of this realization, and leaves him to fend for himself as she goes to rejoin Chewie in the safety of the cockpit.

* 

It’s been nearly forty years since the New Republic had influence in Devaron. The planet is mostly uninhabited now. The Clone Wars had destroyed the planet’s infrastructure, and many of its citizens had fled to other Outer Rim planets, but Rey knew a few remaining Devaronian colonies might still exist in the forests of the planet.  
  
She hoped that, while they are likely all in ruins, the infrastructure of a few outposts from the New Republic might remain usable. There may even be the chance of water, and supplies. She’d left Chewie to tend to the Falcon, and she had urged Kylo to accompany her on a little field trip in search of supplies. She had decided their best bet was the ruins of the Temple of Eedit, although it had been a fruitless search thus far.  
  
“You don’t have a plan,” he says as they survey the ruins. There’s faded red paint on the temple steps. They’ve caved to the jungle vines that have grown around and through it.

Her eyes widen a bit as she feels him lurking at the edges of her mind. She didn’t think he still had it in him. She’s felt him blocking the Force off over the last year, little by little, as Luke had done. When she did find him tapping into it, it was out of anger, or fear. Like earlier, when he had awoken the first time.  
  
“I have been,” he responds to her realization. “But I seem to find it difficult around you.”  
  
He says it so matter-of-fact. She exhales. “Oh. Oh.” She pauses. He’s waiting for her to acknowledge the lack of a plan. “No, you’re correct. I didn’t really think past getting us here, to Devaron. To safety.”  
  
“Are we going to live out our lives together in an abandoned, ancient Jedi temple? Will we live off the fruits of the trees? Become one with the Force?” he mutters, kicking a rock at his feet.  
  
Rays of light fall through the cracks. It looked like the temple tower had collapsed years ago, possibly during a battle. The Imperial Navy had destroyed much of the temple as well, ages ago. Vines grow over the fallen statues. There’s a crater where the main hall once stood.  
  
“Most of it was destroyed during and after the Clone Wars,” she observes.  

“They destroyed anything of significance to the Jedi,” Kylo tells her. She assumed this to be the case, but she’s surprised to hear him comment on this particular fact.  
  
“There’s a vergence here,” he says then, becoming still, his arms slightly outstretched, parallel to the ground.  
  
“A what?” she asks. He glances back at her, surprised. There were still secrets, knowledge of the Force left unrevealed to her.

But then, she feels it. It’s faint. The temple has sat empty, decaying, for years, but she can feel it threading around her, around the both of them. It latches on to them, tendrils of energy.

They wander through the courtyard towards a wall with a small alcove overlooking the open space. A vine has grown over the small, round floor of the space, but something catches her eye before she steps away. Dark stones placed next to white.  
  
She approaches the space, falls to her knees, and begins to chop away at the vine with a pocketknife she pulls from her rucksack.  
  
Rey uses the wool of her gauntlets to wipe away the rubble. It’s a round mosaic, similar to the one in the cave on Ahch-To. Black and white stones form the image of the Prime Jedi, in an image of meditation and balance.  
  
She turns to call to Kylo, but he’s standing mere feet from her. He’s been watching her chore.

“The Prime Jedi,” he explains.  
  
“They didn’t destroy it all,” she smiles a bit, looking back down at the image. Half dark, half light. A balance. Chiaroscuro.  
  
She gets up off the ground and decides to approach him, storing the pocketknife in the canvas bag slung over her shoulder.  
  
He stiffens as she gets closer.  
  
“You can let me in, Ben,” Rey hears his breath hitch as she looks up at him earnestly.

Did he know the nightmares they had shared? Was her aware of the extent of her knowledge, of what he had endured after the internal collapse of the First Order? After Hux had committed a mutiny? Did he know the space he had grown to occupy in her mind?  
  
They stand centimeters apart. She can sense his heart rate quicken. She lifts her hand, holding it inches from his chest. He doesn’t pull away, and so she gently places her hand on his chest, splaying her fingers, feeling his heart beneath the frayed cotton of his shirt. He’s breathing steadily now, and her brow furrows as her touch slows his heartbeat.

She remembers the sound of her own heartbeat, then. But hearing his, it’s different. He’s alive. They made it out. It’s just the two of them, now. On this Outer Rim planet, far away from the chaos they’ve escaped, it’s just them.  
  
He goes to speak her name, she feels it, sees the shape of it in his mouth, but she swiftly stands on her toes to bring their lips together, fueled by something within her, beneath her, around her.

It’s as if the ground beneath her itself pushes her towards him, pressing their fates together.  
  
He’s been holding himself incredibly still throughout this tentative exploration, but as their lips meet she feels his muscles relax. His lips are chapped and dry, and she just presses hers against them, her hand remaining still upon his chest. His beard tickles her chin slightly. His arms rest at his sides, motionless. She pulls away, flushed.  
  
His lack of an enthusiastic reaction infuriates her. She removes her woolen gauntlets, throwing them to the ground in frustration, dropping her bag at their feet.  
  
“Ben,” she begins, before making up her mind and grabbing his face between her hands and pulling him down to meet her in an open mouthed kiss.

He’s tentative at first. She maps the seam of his lips with her tongue. He leans into her, his arms encompassing her, traveling from the small of the back up to her hair, where he weaves his fingers into the loose locks framing her face.  
  
_Let me in_ , she whispers to him as they kiss, and he responds with a bite to her lower lip. Her hands comb through his hair in reciprocation as she hums into the embrace.  
  
Breaking away from him, she grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it off to reveal the tangled web of scars, jagged, raw, raised. Some of them are still red, and some of them have begun to fade, criss crosses and hatches across the expanse of his skin. Her fingers trace them, she outlines his pectorals and he shudders. He shivers, but he lets her examine him.  
  
She steps away slightly for a moment to slide her vest off her shoulders. Maintaining their eye contact, she reaches for the hem of her tunic. He stops her, replacing her hands with his, and lifting upwards to reveal the bindings that cover her breasts.  
  
She presses forward again, skin on skin, biting his lip, moving her mouth to his throat. She presses open mouthed kisses along the scars on the delicate skin there. Her lips focus on the pulse point at his jugular.  
  
He animates, suddenly, becoming more urgent. They tumble back, falling over onto the small set of steps that lead up to the mosaic in the alcove. She crawls on top of him as they land, capturing his face between her small hands and kissing him, kissing his forehead, his mouth. His hands caress her back, and as she straddles him she feels him hardening against her thigh.  
  
She pauses and pulls her lips from him to meet his eyes. They’re hazel. She’s never noticed this before. She’s never been close enough to notice the light green flecks there, in his iris.  
  
“Ben,” she begins, and honestly, something beyond them won’t let her finish her sentence, and something beyond them has an entirely different plan for them, separate from conversation, because he pulls her down to meet him once more.

His arms reach up to pull at the bindings around her chest. Her nipples harden in the cool air of the courtyard. She leans farther down and into him, pressing her bare skin against his. The feeling is intoxicating, warm and reassuring. The sensation of his skin pressed against her reminds her of the sound of waves in her ears. Rey swears she feels the ground give way beneath them both.  
  
And through it all, she feels barriers come down around his mind. She feels him unlocking doors, allowing her in. Some doors she leaves closed. She senses what’s behind those doors, and doesn’t need to open them now. But he wants her to know she’s a welcome guest. He greets her, he shows her the rooms of his mind as they kiss, he invites her in.  
  
She does the same. She shows him how she’s never been kissed before. Has he? She tiptoes around his mind, but this is new to him as well. They lay down the bricks for a new room here, in both their minds. A shared room.  
  
She rolls off him to turn on her side and slide off her her trousers, watching him watch her as she does so. Rey goes to remove his, first touching the edges of his mind to gauge his reaction. He allows her to continue, and she kicks off her boots in the process.  
  
They tumble together, moving to lie across the patterned stones of the mosaic.  
  
She brings his hand down to the apex of her thighs, and while she isn’t exactly sure how she knows what she wants him to do, she just knows the truth is that she suddenly wants him there, right there. She feels it grow from and expand outward as she puppets his hand, his fingers finding a particularly sensitive spot that makes her gasp out loud.  
  
“Ben. Ben,” she murmurs. He does it again, and she giggles. That’s right. This is right. Her skin is tingling.  
  
She removes her hand as he watches her face, enraptured by the movements her lips make, the way she bites her lip when he makes a circle. Overcome, his fingers remain within her as he begins to move down her chest, down her abdomen, splaying her on her back across the image of the Prime Jedi. He presses her thighs open gently with open palms. He’s reverent in the way he analyzes her here.

His lips and tongue are sloppy, inexperienced. He settles on the place where she trembles for him. His tongue begins to trace, a pattern deep between her thighs, and she realizes its a name. He’s tracing a name into the folds of her, he’s tracing himself into her.  
  
_You’re just Ben to me_ , she thinks in protest to herself, and to him, she supposes.  
  
He moves away from between her thighs, moving back up to kiss her. Rey’s hand travels to take hold of him, and she lets her fingers travel lightly over the smooth, delicate skin of him. She traces the ridges and veins she finds on the unmarked, hard flesh of his cock.  
  
He slides a finger into her of his own accord and she bucks forward, tightening the grip she has on his cock. She’s so wet, she takes his finger easily, and he’s adding a second one eagerly. She shifts closer to him, breathing heavily into his neck and adjusting herself so she once again straddles him.

Her arousal becomes unbearable, she’s hot and it’s as if her skin is on fire, lit from the outside. His fingers don’t quite light the spark from within she so craves. She leans down and over him, touching her nose to his as she angles her pelvis and guides him precisely where she aches for him.  
  
They both stop moving, and she begins to sink down on him.  
  
“Rey,” he whispers in her ear. She continues to lean over him as he fills her from below. Her arms quiver slightly from the effort.

She wouldn’t describe the feeling as painful. It’s as if she’s stretching before she trains with her staff. It’s as if she’s landed on a new planet, and it’s wonderful, but still foreign to her, although she thinks she could get used to the newness of it quickly.

The man beneath her knits his brow as she inches into his mind and begs him to stay as still as possible, although she can sense that it’s an incredibly difficult task to ask. He breathes instead, shallowly.  
  
Their eyes stay focused on one another until he bottoms out, her thighs pressed flush against his hips. _Stay for a moment_. And they do.

They remain motionless as she closes her eyes and leans back, feeling the way he stretches, fills her, and the feeling is no longer foreign. She craves it, it’s a need she never even knew she could feel, and she begins to grind her hips in a circle.

He tries to remain still, his forehead wrinkling from the effort. His hands rest at the juncture of her hip and thighs, his thumb pressing firmly into her skin as he practices incredible restraint.  
  
She leans back down, presses her lips against his, and whispers against his mouth, “Move with me.”

And he does.  
  
His hips rise to meet hers, and their pace begins to quicken. She pulls his hands from her thighs and laces her fingers into his, pulling his arms over his head and pressing them into the stone floor.

Something within him breaks as well, because he frees his hands from hers and uses them to flip her over onto the ground. In another situation, she might have felt pain, but instead, she’s just painfully empty at the loss of him within her.

There’s something feral in the way he eagerly bends her knees up towards her chest and sheathes himself within her once more, and the move is so smooth, and so _deep_ , she arches her back off the ground with a keening sound in the back of her throat.

“Ben,” the sound is a little whine, guttural, and she’s panting it over and over while he hold her legs in place by circling his hands around her ankles. Her own hands struggle for purchase, reaching out to hold something – _anything_ – and the sounds they’re making should be shameful, she muses, but they aren’t. The thrill of his hips slapping against her ass, her arousal pooling in her center, making soft wet sounds, and she can’t –

Her heart is beating. As she realizes this, her eyes meet his, and she sees an ocean there.

His movements slow, and he kisses her, and they suddenly have all the time in the world, although they’re not sure they can use it all. He pulls her close, letting go of her ankles to instead wrap his arms around her back, lifting her slightly off the ground as her feet instead hook around him.

His slow, languid movements bring her to a crescendo she knew she was approaching. The stones buzz slightly beneath her, she thinks. They coax her along. 

The world slows to the sound of two hearts beating, and waves crashing on sand. She feels incredibly calm, and she’s tumbling off a precipice, stars beneath her eyes as she shuts them and shouts loudly into the ruins of the temple around them.  
  
She looks up, eyes wide open as she comes down, and nearly falls off him as the sound of a hundred pieces of rubble and rock around her fall from the air. She isn’t sure when they had begun to levitate.

Pebbles fall with small noises, and large boulders crash, cracking open the ground beneath them. A stray temple pillar splits in two. 

She scrambles up to stand at the center of the mosaic where they’ve been lying, watching the chaos unfold around them. Her pupils widen in confusion, in fear.

He rises to meet her, grabbing her waist and nuzzling her, calming her. 

“Vergence,” he murmurs into her collarbone. “Vergence, Rey.”  
  
She blinks as the tendrils of energy that have wrapped their way around them both begin to dissipate, clearly sated. 

Their hands find each other, fingers intertwining as they look to the setting star overhead, their future up to them and them alone.

**_FIN_ **

**Author's Note:**

> [The Prime Jedi](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Prime_Jedi)   
>  [Devaron](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Devaron)   
>  [Temple of Eedit](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Temple_of_Eedit)   
>  [Chandrila](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Chandrila)
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> Come find me on Tumblr: [arroways](https://arroways.tumblr.com/)  
> or Twitter: [@arr0ways](https://twitter.com/arr0ways)


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